


Detour

by gerbilfluff



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Pissing Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5252399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerbilfluff/pseuds/gerbilfluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you gotta go, you gotta go. Stanford's new assistant has no problem with this.</p>
<p>A quick FiddAuthor drabble, and a sequel of sorts to "The Way Nature Intended." For all those who thought, "Gravity Falls is a great show, but dangit, there's just not enough grownups watching each other piss!" TODAY IS YOUR DAY.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Detour

Written with post-AToTS names intact.

Detour

by Apricot the Gerbil

\------

When the car pulled over to the side of the road with jerky immediacy, braking to a halt quickly enough to have Fiddleford lurching forward in his seat, he turned to raise an eyebrow at his friend. “What’s up?”

“Get out of the car. And wait for me,” blurted Stanford to the steering wheel, his eyes squinting in something between concentration and pain. His hand skittered for the seatbelt, fumbling to unlatch it.

Stanford opened the car door and slammed it behind him, with Fiddleford following suit, confused but curious. He stood there by the front passenger door and watched Stanford stalk over to him with hurried steps.

“Look like you’re talking to me,” Stanford ordered Fiddleford. He unzipped his own trousers, digging to pull the head of his cock through the fly of his boxers.

Fiddleford was stunned. “O-oh. Ohhh. I got it,” he nodded, unable to pry his eyes away as Stanford grimaced and moaned. A shuddering stream of piss flew down to spray against the front tire, splattering stronger as a car rushed by the pair of them without slowing down. “So… I was saying to Jake the other day, uh. Seems like the weather’s been… awful strange lately, don’t you think?”

Stanford closed his eyes, teeth gritted as another car passed them by. His urine showed no signs of running out anytime soon. “Just like that, yeah,” he groaned to his friend, relief easing the small creases of urgency around his face into ecstatic curves. *“God* Fidds, this feels so good right now…”

“Jeepers. Your back teeth musta been floatin’,” Fiddleford said with a growing awe, watching the stream blacken more and more of the tire with shiny slickness. He kneaded the front of his pants, toying with the bulge starting to gain its own sense of urgency. “Don’t tell me you waited so long for lil’ ol’ me.”

“New coffee. Wasn’t planning this,” came Stanford’s grunted reply. “But I know you like it, so… once we get back on the road, you should have some time to–- what the?”

That was all he got out, as Fiddleford suddenly bent his head down into the steady stream, making soft “oh” noises at the warm wetness sprinkling over his collar, through his hair, dribbling down his neck under his shirt…

Stanford stared down at him, still pissing away onto his friend’s face, but frowning slightly. “Fidds. Okay. What the hell.”

“Sorry,” said Fiddleford quickly, ducking back out of range of the flow and standing up to straighten the now-darkened knot of his tie. He cleared his throat and looked ramrod-straight ahead at the car door, trying to ease the awkwardness by starting back into the small talk, even as urine was sliding down his brows, his cheeks… “Still, the clouds’ve been pretty mellow by the old Henderson place, I reckon, and-–”

“Fidds.” Stanford’s piss had dribbled down to its last spurts, but he had the same wide-eyed stare of disbelief as when he’d first seen Fiddleford stoop towards him. “You’re, uh. Into _that_ kind of thing, too?”

Fiddleford’s face was as red and pounding as the cock trapped within his trousers. “I-I didn’t think,” he babbled, eyes rolling above his spectacles as he stumbled to find words. “It just… seemed like it might feel nice, is all, and I…”

“I don’t mind showing off for you,” Stanford interrupted him sternly. He shook off onto the tire, continuing, “I don’t know if I’m ready for… _that,_ yet.”

“Of course,” said Fiddleford, his shoulders drooping slightly as he nodded.

Stanford zipped up, then walked back around the front of the car to get in without another word. Fiddleford gingerly reached for the car door handle and got inside as well, reaching for a handkerchief in his blazer pocket to dab at the drops shaking from his hair before they could fall on Stanford’s leather interior.

They sat there for a moment in silence.

“Is it okay if I still…” Fiddleford began hesitantly, and trailed off.

Stanford grunted, looking off to the side as he turned the key in the ignition. “Sure. Yeah. You… take care of what you need to. Just make sure to aim into some tissues. Box should be at your feet.”

Fiddleford didn’t waste a moment, letting the huffs fall unstifled from his mouth as he leaned the seat back and began to unzip his pants. “Thank you,” he panted to his friend, then licked his left palm and took his hammering erection into his hand. “Really. Can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Stanford, pulling back onto the road. He heard the even-paced slaps of skin against skin coming from the passenger seat grow steadily louder, but didn’t bother looking over at what he knew was happening. “You’re a little weird sometimes, Fidds.”

“I know,” came Fiddleford’s reply though a moan.


End file.
